


And Satisfaction...

by tirsynni



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Pre-Series, more of a bunny than anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tirsynni/pseuds/tirsynni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After hearing his superiors discuss the Righteous Man and his destiny, Castiel just wanted a peek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Satisfaction...

  
  
Castiel just wanted to see the Righteous Man, he who would descend to Hell and possibly begin the Apocalypse. The Archangels occasionally forgotten the lower soldiers could hear, and his curiosity had been peaked.  
  
Even after all this time, he failed to rid himself of the weakness of curiosity.  
  
He snuck to the mortal plane to meet the Righteous Man. His soul made it easy enough to find him. The Righteous Man walked away from the smoldering remains of an abomination, and Castiel was well pleased. And curious yet again. He had come this far…  
  
Castiel did not expect the Righteous Man to shoot him. And stab him. And try to cut off his head.  
  
“What are you?” the Righteous Man snarled. He had a weapon in his hands and his back against a tree. His eyes were wide, and blood trickled from his ears. Castiel wiped salt and holy water from his face and studied him. Anger was clear, but there were more emotions twisting that brilliant soul. For all his knowledge, Castiel had difficulties translating them all.  
  
“Do not be afraid --” Castiel began.  
  
The Righteous Man shot him again.  
  
Castiel could not recall any other meeting with any other human going this way. He expected the Righteous Man to genuflect. He expected the Righteous Man to hear him earlier, too. Instead, he made the human’s ears bleed. He feared that did not help this encounter.  
  
The Righteous Man was leaving, sprinting through the forest. Castiel almost stopped the human, but he stilled himself. He had only wanted to see him. He didn’t know how it had gone this far. He could not recall the last time he had been this reckless.  
  
Yet he could not stop himself from flying after the Righteous Man again.  
  
The Righteous Man returned to the small room where he was staying. He placed protections in each corner. Castiel approved. When the human finished, he sat on his bed and stared at a small black object in his hands. His face looked strange, pale and tired. His eyes looked shiny. Even his soul dimmed.  
  
The Righteous Man exhaled and opened the black object. He touched it several times and raised it to his face. Castiel listened and heard a ringing noise. Then it stopped and a man’s voice spoke. John Winchester, Castiel realized. When he stopped speaking, the Righteous Man spoke.   
  
“Hey, Dad, I took care of the Wendigo, so no worries there.” He inhaled and it didn’t sound right, too shaky considering the state of his physical body. Castiel looked him over again anyway, just in case. “There’s something else in this town. I think it’s following me. It looks human, but I shot it and stabbed it and it didn’t even flinch. I have no idea what it was.” He gave his current address and then added, “Just…give me a call back, okay?”  
  
The Righteous Man closed it -- a phone, Castiel realized, and he felt foolish for not realizing it earlier -- and then the human put his face in his hands.  
  
“Do not be afraid,” Castiel tried again. The Righteous Man’s head jerked up, and he had another gun in his hands. Castiel stayed very still.   
  
“Where the hell did you come from?” the human snapped. “And what are you?”  
  
Enough of this. Castiel concentrated, and the Righteous Man’s face grew white as the shadows of his wings appeared. He feared his true wings would burn out the human’s eyes. “I am Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord.”  
  
The Righteous Man stared silently at him for a moment. Then he shot Castiel again.  
  
After the Righteous Man emptied his gun and Castiel stopped heating the metal and healed the human’s hands, the human finally consented to talk.   
  
“An actual angel?” the human -- Dean Winchester, Dean -- asked skeptically. Even after Castiel had healed him, Dean kept rubbing his hands.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Who looks like an accountant?’ Dean asked. Castiel saw his eyes flick to his bag. More weapons. “I don’t--”  
  
Castiel stared at him. “An accountant?” He remembered when humans used to genuflect at the presence of an angel. He had expected at some of that respect from the Righteous Man.  
  
Dean stared at him. Then, to Castiel’s confusion, he began to laugh. It did not sound happy, and the sound baffled Castiel even more than the laughter. “When Mom told me angels were watching over me,” Dean managed through his laughter, “I wasn’t expecting a holy tax accountant.”  
  
That was all right; Dean Winchester wasn’t what Castiel had expected, beyond the blinding glow of his soul. Yet the same urge that convinced him to see the Righteous Man kept him from flying away now.  
  
Dean continued to laugh, even as he fell back onto the bed. His eyes were too wide and his voice sounded odd when he spoke again, cracking in odd places and still heavy with disbelief.  
  
“So…what brings an angel to this shitty side of the universe?”  
  
xoxoxox  
  
Sam Winchester wasn’t proud of his initial reaction, but at least he refrained from slamming the door in the other man’s face. “What are you doing here?” he hissed. He smelled blood and smoke, and it contrasted so much with the warm smell of baking cookies behind him he wanted to vomit. Or weep.  
  
“Sam?” Jessica called. Sam tensed.  
  
“It’s nothing!” he called back. “Give me a minute.”  
  
His hand twitched on the door, but he didn’t close it. That little fear, the one that had kept him from answering his phone for years, crept up now and grabbed him by the throat. “What,” he asked quietly, “are you doing here?”  
  
John Winchester stared at him. He looked tired and old, older than four years of distance could explain. “It’s Dean, Sammy. He’s gone missing.”


End file.
